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Never Again
Linda, September 22, 2013

Sometimes it is hard to believe that
I will never see you here again.
I will never hear you call from the other room.
I will never see you sitting in your chair
And grab your toes as I walk by.. just to touch you.
I will never see you come through the door
And run across the room for a hug.
I will never enjoy a Sunday dinner cooked by you
Or hold your hand as we sit on the beach.
I will never hug or kiss you goodbye,
Or crawl into your arms in our bed at the end of the day.
I will never watch you pour another rum “shower shot”
Or pretend I don’t want another glass of wine as you pour it anyway.
I will never hear you call me “Hon” or “Wifey”
Or feel you behind me as you kiss my neck.
I will never dance with you in the kitchen,
Or sit with you on the porch and watch a storm roll in.
I will never do any of these things with you again.
But I will remember…
I will always remember.

 

This week has been a week of tears and memories. It’s been what I call a “rough week.” Perhaps it’s because life is a little slower this week, and I have less to occupy my mind. I actually looked at my calendar to see the moon phase… For years, I’ve noticed that a few days before a full moon, I get weepy, but that wasn’t it. I guess it just is what it is…part of this grief journey is realizing that there are good moments/days/ weeks and there are rough moments/days/weeks.

When Bruce first passed, I remember the feeling of being so completely lost. I think a lot of that lost feeling we experience is because of all the roles that other person played in our lives. Bruce wasn’t just my husband… he was so much more. The grief support group I attended initially had me make a list of all the roles he had filled. Mine looked like this:
My best friend                  Snuggler                                 Companion
Confidant                           Lover                                       Shoulder to cry on
Source of laughter           Source of comfort                  Dinner partner
Travel buddy                    Cooking buddy                       Beach buddy
Tax man                             Kayaking partner                  Finance guy
Bill payer                           Litter box cleaner (gross!)    House maintenance man
Mechanic                           Gardener                                  My whole world

After my list, I wrote, “My greatest loss is my friend – my Bruce. The man with unconditional love. The man who was my whole world. I just don’t want to do this. It is too much to lose… too much to accept.”

That is so true even now. There are days when I think I can’t do this anymore. It has been over 2 years… How do I just move on like it’s all okay, when it’s not okay? It hurts every day and the only way to keep that at bay is to stay busy and take my mind elsewhere.

It’s funny, but when our loved ones are here, we don’t even think about all the things they add to our lives. Then, they are gone and suddenly we have to do it all and there is no one there to talk to about it.

I miss that. I miss telling Bruce about my day. I miss his laughter and the kindness in his eyes. This week, I can almost feel his presence right next to me; I can almost hear his voice. One of my grief books suggested that I close my eyes and visualize him here. I can do that. But eventually I must open my eyes and the space in front of me is empty… and I feel even more alone.

One thing I can say without any hesitation… Our culture does not prepare us to deal with loss or the grief that follows it. Until it is our own journey, we each carry around our own preconcieved idea of what it is like, how we would act, how we should feel, how to “get over it”, and various other nonsense. Yes – nonsense!

I have found that the people who have the most “advice” are those who have never been where I am. Those who have suffered loss like this, tell me what I am about to tell you…

Grief is a maddening experience. You will feel like you have lost your mind… and guess what! That is normal. While the others mean well and their hearts are in the right place, they have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT THEY ARE SAYING. There… I said it. I put it out there. I love them and I love that they care, but to you I say, “Love them, but don’t listen to them.” Instead, it is our job to share our experience honestly so they might understand. Why? Because one day they will be here too, and they will be just as lost.

When Bruce died, I started a journal somewhere in the second week. At first it was a lot of bullet points about how I felt… things I didn’t DARE say out loud because I was sure they were “wrong.” They weren’t. How you feel isn’t wrong and this was how I felt. Now, with this blog and your comments/messages, I am learning that this is how most of us have felt or still feel on the “hard days” that continue year after year.

Today, in an effort to break down some of the myths of our society, I would like to share some of my early thoughts and feelings with you…
Bruce died on January 12, 2013. These are bits and pieces from my journal the week of January 24, 2013:

* How do I feel? I feel off-balance. I am trying to process so many emotions at a rapid pace. This is not the time I can be brave. I am human… is it okay NOT to be the “good girl” right now?… I can’t. 

* I know tears help me release the pain. The tears do help when they come… but most of the time I just feel numb. Is that appropriate? Do people think I don’t care?

* I feel rushed by people to “get over it.” I feel like I need to put on a mask and pretend it’s okay so they will feel better. But I’m not sure if I care what they think.

* Grief sneaks up on you… it feels chaotic and VERY messy. Most people don’t want to hear what I have to say… or what I think or feel. They would rather talk AT me… they like to tell me what to think or feel. I don’t want to listen but I smile and nod like a “good girl.”

* Truthfully, I don’t want to go on without him… I feel completely incompetent to keep going. Should I tell someone? I don’t think I will ever feel “normal” again… sometimes I wonder if I will ever even smile again.

* This thing… this grief comes at me like the waves in the ocean. I keep being told to “experience” each moment as it comes, but I don’t want to… it’s too much. I can’t think straight. People are pushing me… they need to back off – leave me alone… my mind is mush.

* This pain is overwhelming; it is more than I can bear. It is too much – too hard. It is so intense that I have to push it down most of the time, just to survive that moment. I feel completely immobilized. Someone said to take 1 step at a time… just do the next thing and then the next thing… that sounds like something I can do… maybe. My goal? Just make it through today. I can’t think past that.

* People keep telling me that Jesus is here, but I feel completely abandoned. I think I will let someone else be religious for me for a while. I just don’t feel it… I don’t feel God. I don’t believe he is there for me anymore. I’ve always felt that God could handle my anger… I hope he can handle this, too. I know the “Sunday School” answer that God is my “source of peace.” I don’t feel any peace. Church answers feel very empty right now. I want to believe they are true… People say I need to believe they are true, but I think my issue is trust. Right now, I don’t trust God… not anymore. If being at peace means to be okay with “what is”, then I don’t think I will ever have true peace again. I don’t know if I will ever trust God again… How can I trust that he loves me? Who would do this to someone they love? Maybe it is too soon to even comprehend having peace. Maybe I am pushing myself too hard. Right now, I don’t even want to survive, so peace means nothing…

So why in the world did I share my thoughts for that week? What good could possibly come from sharing such darkness – such despair?

Well, for those going through this right now – you’re normal. Don’t panic or be scared to acknowledge what you are feeling. It’s real and it sucks! There is not an easy way around it. Take a breath; take one moment at a time, get through it and then move to the next. Lean on the rest of us and let us be your strength for a while. I am so thankful for those people who were my strength… I am eternally grateful!

Secondly… for those who have never been here… Is it possible that you may have been too quick to judge or give advice? Your heart was in the right place. We know you love and care about us. However, go back, reread and listen to the emotions behind the words – the absolute sense of darkness and loss. For just a moment, put your own ideologies aside and just FEEL what we feel. When someone is at that point of loss and despair, ideologies and “words of wisdom” mean nothing. They are incomprehensible and as empty as the hole in our hearts and our lives. So how can you help? What do we need? Just be there… listen to us, love us in spite of ourselves and hold us up when we can’t do it for ourselves. We need you, but this is one journey we have to figure out for ourselves and it may take us a while.

Finally, for all of us… we need to come to terms with the idea that this is a growth process. It is a change in our soul and lifestyle – not just a weekend retreat. It is a new reality with new challenges… and we didn’t ask for any of it. But somewhere down that road, we can find peace again. At first in small moments of time, then over time it can grow and fill our lives a little bit at a time. It will happen but only if we are patient with ourselves and each other.

 

This is my story but this is our community… the place where we can share our experiences. Please share yours by going to the comments and leaving a note, comment or question.

This space is a weekly blog. For daily affirmations please like our Facebook page of the same name, www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

Time changes nothing on its own…
That is my job now.
This is a journey.
It is mine…
I must own it to survive it.
~ Linda, September 15, 2013

This past week I traveled to southern California on business. It was quite the journey for me considering the length of the trip, the time difference and the fact that I had NO idea where I was going or how to get there. It was a wonderful trip, but I can say that after being away for a week, it is a treat to be home. However, as anyone grieving can attest, the journey home isn’t always an easy one…

But this is the way life is…. life is filled with journeys – true journeys and metaphorical journeys. It is how we grow and learn and develop. It is how we discover new things about ourselves and how we expand our lives. In fact, when we suffer loss, what is it called? Right – we call it a grief journey. Like all other journeys, there is something to be learned, but unlike other journeys, we did not choose this one. It is not a path anyone would willingly take, but we don’t have an option. The only choices are to move forward or stand still. Many times along the way I have hesitated, not quite willing to take the next step, but eventually I take a breath and put one foot in front of the other… moving tentatively until I can get my bearings.

Bruce and I met while cruising in the Virgin Islands. So, it only seemed fitting that through the years of our marriage, we did a lot of traveling. Like any journey, you learn a lot about a person when you travel with them. Bruce and I were no different, We learned right away that traveling in a car for any extended amount of time was not the best idea. Why? Well, Bruce did not eat or drink while driving, and he liked it quiet. I, however, eat, drink, sing, talk, play games, in other words – I like to be entertained. In fact, it was during a trip from Michigan to Alabama that I learned Bruce didn’t like opera. I was driving and he was napping so I sang opera the whole way. Guess who was not amused… Go figure! We both laughed about that one for years!

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the night Bruce died and I mentioned the ride home from the hospital… alone. I remember thinking at the time that this would be my life now… always coming home alone to no one. What I did not realize was the enormity of what that would entail. Some days it is quite daunting, and I find myself hesitating before I can walk inside.

The expanse of this lone journey, began to dawn on me in the early weeks after Bruce’s death. I would turn the corner and see Bruce’s truck in the driveway. My first instinct was happiness and excitement. Bruce was home! Then, it would hit me full force and I would remember… Bruce was not home; no one was home. The truck was still sitting there because I couldn’t bring myself to sell it yet. Months later after selling his truck, I learned that coming home still wasn’t any easier. In fact, it is now more than 2 years later and I still find myself wishing with all my heart that he would be there to greet me when I walk through the door. I no longer cry or breakdown, but I secretly wish for all of this to be a dream… for him to be there waiting to greet me with a hug and a smile.

Yesterday, it took 2 flights to get me home. On each, I was seated next to an elderly couple. It may seem odd but a year ago, that would have been really hard. I would have been a bit jealous – wondering why they were allowed to grow old together while Bruce and I weren’t. (Sometimes that is still a struggle for me. It is something I will never understand; I just have to accept.) Yesterday, however, I found myself remembering what it was like to fly with Bruce. We would always snuggle up. (Yea.. we were that couple.) Sometimes, I would lay my head on his shoulder and snooze, and other times we would play games on his phone or share a set of headphones and listen to music together. For us, it didn’t matter what we did; it was the time spent together… it was our journey together. As I was thinking about this, I looked over at the couple next to me as they giggled together and played a card came on their tablet. I smiled and wondered if they appreciated the pure joy present in that moment.

When I finally arrived home, I knew the house would be quiet and empty. I found myself sitting in the driveway for a few moments gathering my thoughts, my emotions (and my courage) before I went inside. I consciously reminded myself how blessed I am to still have this space that was ours. This space where I can still feel Bruce’s presence and remember him. I guess what I am saying is that I am learning to look at what I still have instead of what I don’t. Learning to look for the blessings and be thankful for them, has been my way of moving forward through this journey.

I’ve learned a lot on this grief journey so far. (That’s the whole point of this blog, right?) Although at first, I was quite resistant to learning anything. What in the world did I need to learn alone that I couldn’t learn with Bruce by my side? In time I have come to learn that isn’t the point. It wasn’t about Bruce and I being together until the end of our lives. Instead, it was about us being together and loving each other until the end of his life. My journey of love with Bruce taught me so much. I know we will be together again one day, but my life isn’t over… I know there is more.

My journey of grief has also taught me a lot and Bruce still gets credit for that. Why? Because when he died, I found myself trying to learn more about who he was and what made him tick. I did this by experiencing all the things I had taken for granted while he was here. I found myself reading what he read, listening to his music and trying to do the things he had enjoyed. It’s funny, but while I was doing that, I ended up learning so much more about myself, as well. I have learned that there is still so much more out there for me. As long as I have breath, l have a purpose. I know without a doubt, I still have so much to learn and so much more to give back.

 

This is my story but this is our community… the place where we can share our experiences. To share yours, please go to the comments and leave a note, comment or question.

This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief

All is Well…
~ Linda, September 16, 2013

In each breeze, let me feel your touch.
In each sunrise, let me experience your joy.
In each storm, let me feel your strength.
In the quiet, let me hear your voice telling me…
All is well…
Each moment was planned.
Each smile was for me.
And your acceptance of life as it is
was your gift to help me through this storm.
I loved you…
And even now, you love me.

(Our last picture together; taken 1 month before Bruce died.)

When I started this blog a month ago, I had a dual purpose. One was to create a virtual community of support for anyone suffering loss. The other was to help those around us understand how best to offer support.

Our society tends to treat loss, grief and mourning as one event, but that is wrong. While each of these are connected, they are all separate actions that form a process that is never ending. With the right support, one does eventually come to some kind of peace… but there is no timeline for that journey nor any specific “right way” to get there.

What do I mean? Well, since Bruce died I have been questioned or given unwarranted advice about choices I have made. At first, this was extremely frustrating. As time has passed and I am able to think with less raw emotion, I have come to realize that people say these things because they honestly don’t know any better… In fact, many times it has come from the people who still have their spouse or significant other by their side. Once I realized that they truly have no idea what they are saying and they really do mean well, I understood that it makes no sense to be upset… instead I want to help set the record straight.

Today’s story is about Bruce’s death and cremation, and the questions that followed it – mine and others. I don’t belittle the hurt behind the questions or the idea that someone else may have made different choices. (Of course, they would.) My hope is that by being honest, we can move away from the idea that grief is something we need to “do right” and replace it with the realization that it is a process. A process that requires the griever to live and bargain with each moment as it comes… none of it is easy or rational. It is a moment by moment journey and we do the best we can in each moment…

It was Friday night, January 11, 2013. I worked late but still managed to beat Bruce home. I arrived at 6:30 PM and brought Chinese food home for both of us. (I still don’t eat Chinese food. Surprised?) Bruce got home about 8-ish; he had worked a 15 hour day and was exhausted. I was so excited to see him that I ran to the door to greet him and take his cooler. He didn’t want much to eat – just soup. As he ate, I sat with him and we talked about what we wanted to do on Sunday (the only day we had off together). We decided either kayaking or the beach… just being together and near the water was all we wanted.

When we went to bed, we were laughing for the most part… I tend to be a worrier and Bruce was always so chill. We would laugh that he was Pooh Bear (with a beer not a honey pot) and I was Piglet (a tiny worrier). I was fretting about something, and he kissed my forehead, pulled me close and said, “Stop worrying, Piglet… It’s time to sleep.”

A few short hours later, I woke up, still in his arms but he sounded like he was having a nightmare. I tried to wake him. I called his name and shook him over and over. Suddenly, he seized up, and collapsed. I was terrified. I called 911 and started CPR. Within moments, EMS was here and they took over. But I already knew… they tried a breathing bag, an Epi-pen and the “paddles”… but the line on the monitor stayed flat. I watched, screaming in my head for him to come back… but I knew. No one said a word… we all knew; they just kept doing CPR. They waited (actually waited) until a police officer came to drive me. Then, we all headed to the ER. It was so surreal… no sirens, no one beside me… just me. Once at the hospital, they put me in a “consultation room.” Within 5 minutes the doctor came in and told me what I already knew.

I was allowed to stay with Bruce about an hour until the Medical Examiner came. I remember stroking his face and his whiskers. I remember thinking he was going to open his eyes at any moment and say, “Gotcha!” I remember telling him how much I love him… and I remember crying. There was no one… I was completely alone and I knew deep inside that was how it would be from now on.

When the ME’s office came and took him away, the police officer took me back home. That was when I remember calling people. It was 3 AM but I didn’t know what else to do. I was so numb and confused. It just didn’t seem real… It was like some horrible dream and I just knew I would wake up at any moment and Bruce would be here… and he would hold me tight. He had to still be okay… He was my hero. I told him everyday that he was my hero…

My first marriage was violent and after 23 years, my kids and I ran away with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Soon along came this wonderful man named Bruce who loved us all with no conditions… just complete and total love. He loved me and he loved my kids… who could ask for more? He really was my hero. How could a loving God take that away? How could Bruce really be gone? It seemed so wrong… so impossible.

I spent the next few hours cleaning the house and preparing for everyone to arrive. Alex, my son, was here first… always willing to take care of his Momma. Everyone else came throughout the next few days… it is kind of a blur. I remember some things but not a lot. I was in such complete shock. I just remember that I had to concentrate just to breathe… (even writing this, I can’t breathe.)

As everyone came in, I remember so many people saying, “We are here for as long as you need us.” But that wasn’t true. Within 1.5 weeks, everyone was gone. I hadn’t even come to terms with anything yet. I wasn’t even breathing yet… but they were gone. I know they all had lives to get back to… they really couldn’t stay indefinitely, I know that. But now I was all alone… so completely alone.

I was trying so hard to be strong and brave so Bruce would be proud. I just wanted to do this “right” and do what I remembered he had wanted. We had talked about death and what we wanted… and he always said that he did NOT want a viewing. (He hated being the center of attention.) He wanted to be cremated and to have his ashes scattered in the ocean. He did NOT want to end up on a shelf somewhere. He was very specific about that… So that was my plan. I had no idea what I was doing and there was no one to guide me… but I was going to give it my all.

It took 2 weeks for the funeral home to call, and I went to pick up his ashes by myself. At first, they tried to give me the wrong ashes. Then, they put them in a plastic bag, like the kind you get at the grocery store. I was so appalled. How dare they! This was a man… He was my husband… He was my soul. I cried all the way home. Once here, I lit a candle in front of the container and sat vigil for the next 24 hours. How could such a wonderful man be inside such a small container? It was too much to comprehend. I just sat…

The next day, I knew what I had to do. I sent the family an email stating that I wanted to hold a memorial to scatter his ashes on his birthday at sunrise. That was still a few months away and every response said, “yes.” I spent the next few months carefully planning and writing that memorial. At one point, his Mom (whom I love dearly) asked if she could could keep some of his ashes. As hard as it was, I had to say “no” – I didn’t want to cause any pain or be mean, I only wanted to do what Bruce had asked. He was my world; my allegiance was to him. I needed to do this right. Thankfully, his family was understanding and supported me completely in following Bruce’s wishes.

On the day of the memorial, it was supposed to rain… but it didn’t. It was beautiful. At sunrise, Alex and Jared (my son-by-marriage) took Bruce’s ashes out in the kayaks past the breakers and scattered them. The memorial and brunch were perfectly “Bruce”… I know he was smiling. For such a sad day, it was beautiful.

No, I did not keep any ashes. I wasn’t trying to be mean or unkind to anyone. I was merely trying to do as Bruce had asked. When people stated that they wished I had saved some, I sent the sand from the beach… that was all I had. In fact, it is all I have for myself.

I hurt … so do all of us that loved him. I am so proud that he was such an amazing man… so full of unconditional love… such a hero to all of us. We were all so blessed to know him and to love him. I still cry for him several times a day. I will miss him until the day I am allowed to join him.

This is a simple story… but it is one of love. While someone else may have done things different, please understand that my only intention was to do what Bruce had asked of me because I love him. And I know if the story were reversed, he would have done the same for me.

Because, after all… isn’t that what any of us would try to do?

There is a peace the comes from understanding,
And a love that is always remembered.
~ Me, September 14, 2013

Welcome to Peace, Love & Grief. What is this all about? Two years ago I found myself on a journey that I did NOT want or ask for. Where was I going? I did not know. All I knew was it felt like a nightmare with no end, and I felt completely alone. “What kind of journey,” you ask? It was and still is my journey through grief.

Yes, there were people around me who care and love me but from where I stood, no one seemed to be able to understand. I felt lost and abandoned and so utterly alone. It has been a slow journey and since I am not of the opinion that this journey will end in this life, I know I still have a long way to go. I have made a lot of mistakes. However, I have had a lot of help and have learned a lot in these two years. That said, my wish is not to tell anyone what to do or not do, how to feel or not feel or any of those things that usually frustrate me when someone says them to me. : )

My wish is to share my journey as it was and is – to be open and honest. If by doing so, I can help even one person as they travel along their own journey, then it is good and I am at peace…